


Love as Hot as Ice

by authorinwaiting



Series: Love as Hot as Ice [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 17:10:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5013013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authorinwaiting/pseuds/authorinwaiting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson was injured in the war, and now has to find a hobby to "release his anger".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love as Hot as Ice

It'd been two years since John Watson left the army. No, left wasn't the right word. He was discharged, due to an injury- shrapnel through his right shoulder and left leg, and although he was honorably discharged, he felt rather defeated by the whole thing. It wasn't that he missed the war, it was that he missed the feeling of belonging. He missed the felling of knowing he was doing something good. He did not, however, miss the fighting or the guns or the loud noises and bloody images that still haunted his dreams. He also did not miss the bombs he helped plant, or the feeling of soldiers blood on his face from shooting them, or on his hands from saving them. No, these were things that John would never miss.

At least, that's what his psychiatrist told him. Granted, she was an idiot, and she kept insisting that John get a hobby to distract his thoughts, and John find some nice girl to date, neither of which ever sounded pleasing to him. His sessions with her were always boring and seemed to last forever. More often then not, they did more damage than good. It was always the same thing over and over, and it was just so boring that John couldn't ever remember what they'd talked about. Which was much how this session was going. 

"Hello, John."

"Evening."

"How are you today?"

"I'm fine. What about you?"

"Just fine. Anything happen since the last time we talked?"

"Anything pertaining to what, exactly?" 

"To you, John. To you," she drawled out.

"No, nothing really."

"How's the job hunt?"

"If I'd gotten a job, you would know, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, but I'd like to hear it form you."

"No, I have not gotten a job yet."

"Alright. Are you at least looking?"

"Yes, I am."

"Good. How's the family?"

"Can we not talk about my dysfunctional family yet? I haven't even had my tea."

"Alright. How are your dreams?" she asked.

"Boring."

"Is that all?"

"What do you want me to say?" 

"What are they about?"

"What are they always about?" he asked impatiently. 

"John," she sighed out. "You have to work with me." 

"They're about the war."

"What about the war?"

"Killing people. Not being able to save them."

"Anyone specific?" she asked, and God, did John hate that question. Sometimes his dreams were just blurry faces, but usually they were clear and distinct. His latest dream, however, was one he had often. 

"Yeah, I guess."

"Care to talk about it?" 

"Do I have a choice?" 

"You always have a choice, John. But I can't help you get better if you don't work with me," she replied impatiently, checking her watch even though they'd only been talking for six minutes.

"There was this little boy, no more than six, and he was staring at me. His mouth was moving but nothing would come out. The closer I got, the more scared he looked. I tried to tell him that I wouldn't hurt him, that he needed to come with me, because the building he was in was going to explode. He wouldn't listen. He wouldn't come with me. I went to go grab him and then there was so much blood coming out of his head. Someone had shot him, but it wasn't just anyone. It was me. I shot him, and I watched as his fragile body fell to the ground, and his blood drained out of his body. I watched and he went from a dark tan to a startling pale in just a few minutes. And I knew that the building was going to explode, and that little boys body was going to be nothing but bits of flesh, and I knew that I had to get out of there. But I couldn't just leave him. I couldn't leave that poor boy there, all alone like that." 

"But he was dead?" 

"Yes, I knew that. I knew he was dead. I knew with every fiber of my being that that boy was dead. I knew that I'd shot him. I knew that I was the one responsible for an innocent boys death." "Don't you think you're overreacting to this, John?" "Overreaction? Me?" "Yes. Don't you think you're overreacting to this? It was, after all, just a dream. Wasn't it?" "No, it wasn't." "You mean, you've actually shot and killed a little boy?" 

"Have you ever shot someone?"

"No."

"Then I wouldn't expect you to know what it feels like to not only kill someone, but to kill a child. A child that didn't do anything wrong. An innocent child. Someones son, someones brother!" he yelled, clenching his fists as the tears began to form in his eyes. 

"John, calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down. Don't tell me to calm down when you don't understand-" 

"It seems our time is up. Your next appointment will be in a month. In the mean time, I want you to try to find a hobby, something to help you manage your anger. Can you do that for me?" she asked, handing John an appointment card. He took it and walked out of the room without another word, trying to slow his heart rate and control his emotions. She was always like this. Always wanted to know but never wanting to understand. Who would? John didn't even want to understand what it was like to have these images and dreams and thoughts stuck with him. But he did. He had images that he could never get rid of.

So maybe she was right. Maybe he needed to find a hobby that would help him get rid of his emotions. But was there even such a hobby for him? Was there a hobby that could get rid of the war? John didn't know. But he guessed it was about time he tried to find one. So he called the only person he knew would help- assuming she was sober enough. 

"John? Are you alright?" her voice chirped when she answered. 

"Yes-"

"Is someone dead?"

"No, but-"

"Do you need a ride?"

"No, Harry. But-"

"Are you getting married?"

"Harry! Listen! I need your help," he yelled. 

"What's up, little brother?"

"I need a hobby that'll help me control my emotions."

"Go have sex."

"What? No. Harry, be serious."

"Well, you could always do tennis?" 

"I could never do tennis."

"Bowling?" 

"No."

"Baseball then."

"Harry-" 

"Oh! Basketball!"

"Is this you sober?"

"Yes," she sighed out. "Unfortunately, I'm not good at things when I'm sober."

"So I've noticed."

"Oh! Why not ice skating?" 

"Ice skating?" 

"Yeah. You used to play hockey when you were younger, so try this. It's demanding, and takes a lot of your time." 

"I guess I can try it," John said. He thanked his sister and hung up.

And that is how John Watson arrived to his local ice skating rink, where his life would undoubtedly be changed.


End file.
